Chapter 4 #2
“Bulldog.” Logan eyed my sweatshirt. “He’s territorial.”
Well, that totally explained it. I looked over at the guy behind the counter again with a new stink-eye of my own, but he’d already ducked back behind the espresso machine.
Logan knocked his knuckles on the tabletop before rising an inch, about to stand. “Can I walk you to your car?”
I had the strongest urge to dig in my heels. “I don’t mind hanging out til you close.”
“It’s a deep clean night. That’s why there are two of us so late.”
I let him lead me to the front of the café, and Logan held the door open for me to pass through. His coworker watched us leave with a frown, one I fought the urge to return. “Long work the day before school starts,” I said to Logan once he came up to my side on the sidewalk.
“Yeah.” He gave a mock sad face, puffing his lower lip, before saying, “Which probably means we should skip our phone call tonight. It’ll be late.”
I don’t care if it’s late, I wanted to say, but narrowly kept the words in. Didn’t need to seem too eager. “No worries.”
The sun was warm as we made our way back down Gent Street, and I thanked whatever gods were responsible for the full parking spaces earlier, because Logan had to walk me all the way back to Chestnut.
The backs of our hands brushed as we walked, and I was hyperaware of it.
His knuckles whispered against mine, a glancing touch that teased my heartrate higher and higher.
I imagined making the first move, allowing my pointer finger to hook around his, to draw his hand into mine like a spider into a web.
Just a fraction of a touch caused me to spiral. I was down so bad.
“Don’t you think it’s a little weird?” I asked, purposefully walking slower. I wondered if he noticed. “How well we clicked?”
Logan matched my pace, reaching up and pushing his hair out of his eyes. “No. Is it weird?”
“It’s only been a week, but it doesn’t feel like that.”
Logan just was… easy. Effortless. I could’ve told him my whole life story a day after knowing him. He laughed at my bad jokes, and I laughed at his truly abysmal ones, and it just felt right. Normal.
I mean, we barely knew each other—like really knew each other. So why did it feel like we’d been doing this forever? Like we just fit.
Logan scratched the side of his neck. “I can’t imagine I’m that special.”
“You are. Your favorite ice cream flavor is mint chip. You like Untapped Potential. You like football. We’re, like, the same person.” Or like my soulmate.
Logan shot me a quick look before turning back to the sidewalk. “Except you look much better in a cheer uniform than I would.”
The butterflies in my stomach fluttered to life. “I don’t know,” I said, straining to maintain my flirty tone. “I’ll need proof to decide.”
That grin—the one I’d come to adore—spread across his face again, sudden and bright, like it surprised even him
“Did you get your schedule yet?” I asked him.
Logan blinked a few times. “My schedule?”
“For classes.”
“Oh. Ah. No. The office said they’d print me off one tomorrow. Something about a… clerical error.”
“My mom said that there’ve been a lot of things like that lately,” I said, nodding.
“A secretary quit just before the school year was over last spring, and the new workload wasn’t divided equally, I guess.
Something like that. When my mom talks principal stuff, I kind of tune it out.
” My brain was already planning ahead. “If you get there early, we can do a walkthrough of your way to classes. I promise I’ll make your transition into a new school as smooth as possible. ”
Another strange look popped across his expression.
I wanted to reiterate again that he truly had nothing to worry about—boys as cute as him thrived in Brentwood society.
“You seem really excited,” he murmured, and his knuckles slid against mine again.
And again, another zing of electricity shot through me.
“Duh.” I gave a little chuckle. “Like I said, people are going to love you. You’ll need a username when you make a Babble profile.
Ooh, and we should start brainstorming recommendations for your potential headlines.
” Transfer Hottie Has His Sights on A Certain Babe! That had a great ring to it, didn’t it?
“Babble,” Logan echoed as he slid his other hand into the pocket of his apron, still leaving the other out to brush mine. “I’m not really into gossiping.”
“You’re going to hate going to Brentwood, then.”
I’d meant it as a joke, but a thought weighed a little longer on my mind.
If he wasn’t into gossiping… would Logan survive well in the Top Tier?
Would he be like Landon, who seemed like he would jump ship from the friend group the first second he had the chance?
Would he be like Connor, apathetic? Would Logan find it shallow?
Would he find me shallow?
I wasn’t, of course. But what if he got the wrong impression?
Logan’s eyes once more rose to mine, though sharper this time. “Do you like it? Going to Brentwood?”
“Absolutely.”
“You like all your friends?”
I thought about Riley, Ashton, and Kyle, and that was suddenly more complicated.
“I like being a cheerleader,” I said confidently, even though that wasn’t quite his question.
“I think that helps make school fun, you know? Being the one who rallies everyone up, gets them excited. It can be annoying sometimes, though. Like how everyone’s pushing me to date the quarterback so we can be the next power couple. ”
I shouldn’t have said it. The words lingered weirdly, especially the D word. Date. It almost felt awkward. I don’t want to date him, I wanted to say to Logan now. I want to date you.
“What if you liked a guy that was a loser?” Logan asked, and we paused at the crosswalk. He didn’t ask me where my car was parked; he just followed along. “The guy people pick on. Outcast. Not the quarterback, but a dweeb?”
I fought the urge to scrunch my nose, because he seemed weirdly serious. “It probably wouldn’t work,” I said. “We’d be too different.”
Logan nodded slowly, like he understood, but the question itself confused me.
Surely he couldn’t mean himself, because Logan was anything but a dweeb.
Fit, tall, smiley—there was no way he was calling himself a loser.
I mean, sure, he had a few… awkward tendencies—like enjoying mini golf and announcing my arrival to Expresso’s as if the Queen of England had opened the door—but nothing fatal flaw-worthy.
We came to my car all too soon, the red sedan parallel parked on the street.
Before heading to the driver’s side door, I hesitated.
“I’ll wait for you in front of the office tomorrow,” I told Logan.
He stood with the sun behind him, the rays threading through his golden hair, making it almost look as if it were glowing.
“I’ll be in my cheer uniform. Hard to miss. ”
Logan caught my hand in his, and I immediately stilled. His skin was warm where it caressed mine, the pad of his thumb slipping smoothly over the backs of my knuckles. Sparks tingled in his wake.
“You don’t…” He let out a small breath. “You don’t have to wait for me. In the morning, before school.”
“I want to.”
“I’m someone who chronically runs late.”
“And I’m someone who chronically keeps people on track.” I batted my lashes. “It’s one of my job descriptions, you know.”
He didn’t laugh. “You’re really sweet, you know. You have your heart on your sleeve.” Logan’s voice lowered. “You should be more careful with it.”
“Will you break it?” I meant to sound flirtier, but the words came out breathy.
Logan’s gaze lifted to mine, and it lingered—quiet, thoughtful. Like he was trying to memorize something, too. “Someone will,” he said instead, dragging his thumb once more over my skin. I fought the urge to close my eyes. “If you’re not careful.”
“It’s a good thing I have good instincts.
” I squeezed his fingers, warm and solid in mine, and before I could think twice—before I could chicken out—I rose onto my tiptoes and kissed the edge of his cheek.
His skin was warm and impossibly smooth beneath the curve of my lips, and for one strange second, it felt like the world stopped turning—just a blink in time where something changed.
My first kiss. Technically.
Logan was totally worthy of it.
I sank back onto my heels slowly, my stomach fluttering. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” I asked, almost shyly now.
But in the moment I’d kissed his cheek, something had changed. Logan didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh, didn’t tease, didn’t even blink. His expression shifted, subtle but sharp, like I’d hit him instead of kissed him. His eyes—shuttered before—were wide now. Unguarded.
For a second, he just… stared. Like he was trying to process what just happened. What it meant.
I could’ve grinned like an idiot. Did I just make his heart flutter?
Logan’s grip on my hand tightened. Barely there, but enough, as if to say no, don’t go yet. “You’ve got more ahead of you than just Brentwood,” he murmured, and that low tone he used matched his expression. “Don’t stay stuck in high school.”
His words made me actually flinch. He hadn’t spoken unkindly, but he also hadn’t spoken lightly. I couldn’t shake the accusation that seemed laced in his voice. “I’m not,” I immediately protested, but my voice didn’t have the strength it’d possessed a moment ago. “I’m not.”
“Good.” Logan lifted his blue gaze to mine, and it lingered. Searching. I had no idea what for. He regarded me almost… wistfully. Was that the right word? As if this was going to be the final time we saw each other. Not the beginning, but the end. “I should get back.”
My inner flirt had totally disappeared. The back-and-forth banter had evaporated at his line.
You’ve got more ahead of you than just Brentwood.
Don’t stay stuck in high school. Logan had backed down immediately, which made me wonder why he had felt it was so important to say in the first place.
Was it because of what we said earlier, about Brentwood being high in the gossip department?
I should’ve asked—but for the first time since I met Logan, my stomach turned in a way that didn’t feel good.
In a way that had me thinking about Maisie Matthews.
Logan dropped my hand, letting the summer breeze take its place. My fingers curled in on themselves, trying to replace the absence. “Drive safe,” he told me, and then he turned his back.
I watched Logan head back down Chestnut, staring at his red polo, condensation dripping off the coffee he’d made me. I couldn’t bring myself to take another sip, my stomach once more turning over.
It’ll be okay, I told myself as I picked my keys out of my pocket. Logan will start at Brentwood tomorrow, and he’ll see. Once he meets everyone, he’ll understand.
He went to Haven—a school not known for its school spirit. But he’d see. I’d show him the Brentwood way, and it’d be perfect.
Feeling far less buzzed than I’d felt walking down the sidewalk fifteen minutes ago, I pressed the unlock button on my key fob and assured myself that if anyone was going to be stuck in high school, it definitely wasn’t me.